TRADITIONS
by Mary Elliott
Summary: A young Lee Crane and his family at Thanksgiving time


Traditions

By Mary Elliott

Lee was worried. He was also cold, wet and tired. He looked towards the older man who had turned his back on him. Lee shuddered, not from the dampness this time, but at the sight of his father taking several long pulls from the hip flask the man was trying to hide from the son. Even at the young age of nine, Lee Crane knew it was dangerous to mix alcohol and guns. He prayed that they both would survive this turkey hunt without injury.

His father's assertions of Lee's stupidity and clumsiness, plus his dad's drinking and temper were just the right ingredients that when mixed together could serve up a plate full of disaster.

Keeping the uncocked rifle pointed downward just as granddad Stewart patiently had taught him, he took a couple careful steps towards his father.

"Dad, do you think we should try those trees to left? Grandpa Stewart told me that's where he usually finds the turkeys. They like hiding in the undergrowth."

"Grandpa Stewart did that. Grandpa Stewart said this. That's all you been talking about since we've got here. You think he was a god or something!"

"Oh no, sir. I just mean, well, he's lived here all his life, been hunting since he was my age. It would make sense he would know where the good places to look are." Seeing his dad's face getting that look which he had grown to fear, Lee quickly added, "It's like how you know just the right way to fix the car's engine. Just by hearing the noise you could tell what was wrong. You're the best man around at rebuilding cars, everybody says so. You're the," Lee desperately tried to find the right word, "you're the car master."

A satisfied smirk replaced the slightly glazed look on his father's face, the skin flushed and veins broken, the red nose revealing the color that only the most confirmed of drinkers have **.** "Yeah, I am. Now shut up! No wonder we haven't spotted anything yet. And stop moving around all the time. You have to stay still, dummy."

Lee just nodded, afraid to make a sound and set his father off on another outburst. He followed the now slightly drunk man carefully, trying to keep one eye on the ground and one eye on his father's gun. The youngster hadn't wanted to go hunting for the Thanksgiving turkey. His grandfather had talked so much about the family tradition of shooting the bird every holiday with his son that Lee's father decided the two of them would start their own tradition. Trouble was Lee didn't think he would like hunting. He did enjoy shooting targets. When they visited the Flushing, Ohio farm last summer his grandfather raved what a great marksman his grandson was, hitting the center so many times. Unused to being praised, it had made him feel good until his dad said it was nothing to be proud of, the test would be to kill something. Lee didn't want to hurt, let along kill, a defenseless animal. The way he was feeling right now, he'd be happy with a bowl of cereal for tomorrow's big dinner. His father hadtold him to stop acting like a baby, how did he think food got on the table every day.

Lost in thought, Lee almost walked into his dad who had stopped abruptly. Looking ahead he saw not one but two turkeys standing side-by-side. His dad pointed to the bird on the left singling that was the son's target; he would take down the bird to the right. Lee reluctantly raised the rifle and got the turkey in his sight, but at the last minute closed his eyes, not able to bear seeing the turkey die. Both rifles fired almostsimultaneously **,** followed by a burst of cursing from the man standing next to him. Opening his eyes, Lee saw there was only one victim, the other bird having disappeared. From what he could tell, the dead turkey was the one that had been on his side.

Knowing what he needed to do, Lee said, "I'm sorry I missed, dad."

His father quickly turned towards him not saying anything for a minute, almost as if stunned. He quickly recovered. "Well, I guess I was right. Shooting at all those targets don't mean a thing if you can't come through when it counts. You're never going to amount to anything,boy. You are nothing but a loser. Now make yourself useful and get the bird so we can get back to the farm. I want to show your grandfather the Stewart men aren't the only ones that can bring home the turkey dinner in this family."

After bragging to everyone, Walter Crane gulped down a large whiskey and retired to the guestroom for what he proclaimed was a well-deserved rest. The other adults saw it as 'sleeping it off.' Grandma Steward happily sat on the side porch cleaning the turkey; it meant her son-in-law would be in a good mood for tomorrow's dinner. Elizabeth was an old hand at dressing birds **.** It was obvious the bird had been hit with lead shot, not the new steel that her son-in-law had been using. She set the lead pellets asidewith a sly grin. She would explain to her grandson that it was a bullet from his old Remington rifle that had provided the turkey, not his father's new Springfield. Ben senior was a frugal farmer and saw no reason to throw away perfectly good ammo from a youth rifle that was seldom used, one that he had made his own lead shells for when he had owned the gun as a young man. A farmer's wife could spot the difference in an instant.

She heard Lee and his grandfather arguing over a game of checkers in the living room. It brought to mind times when her husband battled Ben Junior in the same game. It tugged at Elizabeth's heart that Lee would never know his uncle, dead two months before Lee was born. Walter had been angry about it, butHelen had insisted on Benjamin as a middle name to honor both her father and brother.It was one of the few things that Helen had been able to wrest from her marriage to Walter Crane. Everything else had been lost to her husband's drinking and anger, directed in equal measures to herself and her gentle son. Thank God **,** Lee would nevergrow up to be like his father.

The banging of checker pieces on the boardand then loud laughter came from the other room. A minute later Lee walked into the kitchen with a large grin on his face, accompanied by a mock scowl on the face of his grandfather.

"Grandpa says that since I won, I shouldhave cookies and milk, is that okay, Mom?"

Helen wiped the flour off her hands **,** reached into the refrigerator and poured out the milk. "How about a slice of apple pie? It's still warm."

Lee answered with an enthusiastic nod. "Can I have some ice cream with it?"

Grandpa ruffled the young boy's hair as he walked past him. "Of course, it's the only way to eat pie. I'll have a piece, too **,** Helen. I'll be back after I've checked on Lizzie."

He pushed the screen door open and smiled at his bride of 45 years. After kissing her cheek, Ben inspected the turkey.

"I have to admit I was surprised when Walt brought home this bird."

Without a word, Elizabeth pointed to the small lead balls on the table.

"Why, that no good **-** "

"Hush, don't let Lee hear you. I'll tell him tomorrow night. He needs his confidence built up, Lord knows, but we have to be careful not to tear down Walter."

Before anything more could be said, Lee carefully walked onto the porch carrying pie and coffee.

"Mom said to bring this out to youGrandpa. Would you like me to get you a piece also, Grandma?"

"No, dear, not until I'm finished with this. My hands are all dirty."

"Boy, I can't wait for tomorrow. I love Thanksgiving. Dad sure made a great shot today, didn't he? He said next year maybe if I practice a lot, I'll get the turkey. It will be a family tradition. I won't close my eyes next time. I was a little scared about hunting at first but dad said I'm a big boy now, got to act like a man. He'll really be proud of me if I shoot the turkey next year."

"Is that what happened, son?" Elizabeth asked gently.

Lee busied himself with setting down the pie, not meeting his grandmother's eyes. "Sure, Grandma. Dad said I'm a terrible shot. But next year it'll be my turn."

The two grandparents looked over their grandson's head and without a word Elizabeth brushed the pellets into the trash.

"Why don't I ask your parents ifyou can stay with us next summer? Would you like that? You'll have plenty of time to practice with the Remington."

"And you'll take me fishing like last year, Grandpa?"

"Sure will. We'll have all kinds of fun. Now, go inside and get your pie. Then I'll take you on for another game of checkers, but no cheating this time, young man."

The happy boy hugged both his grandparents, and then scampered back to his treat, warm and secure in all the love that surrounded him.

Sighing, Elizabeth Steward went back to cleaning the turkey. Her young man's turkey. Walter Crane would one day have a lot to answer for, and she would ask the Good Lord to provide the questions.

The next day Lee sat down at the large kitchen table piled high with wonderfully smelling food, mashed potatoes, yams with melted marshmallows, corn and carrots, stuffing and thick gravy. And best of all his Grandma Steward's fresh baked rolls. He could make a meal of those warm rolls with melted butter. He ached to reach out and snatch up one of the rolls, but saw thefrown on his father's face and caught himself in time. He stole a look at his mother, who seemed for once to not be so nervous and fidgety. Far as he could tell, Walter Crane had actually managed to stay responsibly sober. Even for a kid, Lee knew the signs. His mom was happy, and so he was happy. He resolved to not be greedy and grab a roll before they were offered to him. It was a small concession to keeping the peace **.**

Just then his granddad walked in carrying the star of the day, a deeply golden brown turkey just like it was always pictured in the books. It was placed at the head of the table just waiting to be sliced. Heads were bowed and Grandpa Stewart said the prayer.

"Heavenly father, we thank you for the bounty before us. We thank you for keeping us sheltered and fed and the friendship and love of caring neighbors and family. We pray you continue to guide us in our way through life and keep us on the true path to everlasting life with you. I pray you look after my grandson as he begins his journey towards manhood and guide him in his ways. Show him all the wonders before him and help him to wisely choose his path. Let him honor you in all that he does. Thank you for all the blessings you have bestowed upon this family. Amen."

"Amen."

The noise rose as the different foods were passed around. Lee was unaware of them until a small hand tugged at his shirt.

"Uncle Lee, are you all right?"

The now older and wiser man looked down at the blonde hair young boy and smiled. Those bright blue eyes looked so much like the boy's real uncle Lee had to laugh; a second generation of mother hens was being raised.

"I'm fine **,** Charlie, just thinking about a dinner like this when I was a few years older than you. Now let's fill up your plate before Uncle Chip eats it all."

Charlie gave a big smile, showing off his missing two front teeth. He made a huge pile of mashed potatoes on his plate, remembering to build a lake for the gravy. He grumbled a little under his breath when his dad and Uncle Chip both grabbed a turkey leg. Lee leaned over and promised next year he'd make sure that Charlie would get one, even if he had to wrestle it out of Uncle Chip's hand.

This year his best friend's older sister Carol and her husband and son were able to join Chip for Thanksgiving at the admiral's house. Nelson insisted that he hosts the dinner since he had the most room and considered Chip's family part of his. Harry had tried to have Lee with him during the holidays when the Morton's clan didn't. He knew all too well the unhappy family background of his young captain. Harry had noticed the faraway look in Lee's eyes and worried about him. Young Charlie was now talking his ear off and Nelson was grateful for the genuine smile that appeared on Lee's face.

The doctor said Mrs. Crane had suffered a bad relapse and refused any visits from her son for at least another week. Maybe next year Nelson would invite Helen Crane for Thanksgiving dinner here if the psychiatrist okayed it. He recalled Lee's descriptions of the holiday dinner he hadshared last year with his mom, a frozen Oncore turkey dinner and store-bought pumpkin pie. Nelson knew it wasn't the food that made the day but Lee said his mother was upset she couldn't make a proper dinner for them. If she was here, with some kitchen helped the admiral could arrange, Helen could cook for dinner.It would probably be good for her, and making her happy would make Lee happy. He'd see to it if he could **.** Nelson made a mental note that when the time was right, he would have Will speak with the other doctor about a small get together next year. Lee's face still lit up whenever he talked about the last Thanksgiving he'd had at his grandparents' farm when his father shot the Thanksgiving Day turkey **.** Nelson knew the real story, though; he had learned it from Helen Crane. That Lee persisted in keeping up the delusion was a sign that his father still affected his thoughts. At leastthis one Thanksgiving the pastcould stay the past, he hoped. But for now, it was time to enjoy this day of thanks.

Glancing once more at the dark-haired man he wondered how Lee would feel about going on a turkey hunt for next Thanksgiving **.** They could start their own father and son tradition. Not that he would call it that, of course.


End file.
